Tellah's Gambit
by xXGageXx
Summary: Gaia has seen a relative time of peace. Tensions now seem ride high between the Baronian lords. A discovery on a long forgotten isle threatens to destroy Gaia. Dark races seem to be rustling at the edges of the free kingdoms. Dark sorcery is at work. Prequel to Final Fantasy II FF IV in Japan
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

"Quickly now!" Donovan shouted back at Ruben as he took the time-worn steps two at a time. Ruben cursed under his breath, sliding the strange yellow flower into the inner pocket of his green jacket.

His legs he worried would fail him. He knew that they were more suited for strolls through the halls of the League, on his way to classes. Or perhaps even a game of wood ball with his friends under the tree canopy back on his mother's acreage. Three weeks of running and climbing hadn't done well for the rest of his body, either. The sooner this foray was over the better!

Ruben had even begun to curse Master Rodmire and Pietre. When the hall master and his Cultures proctor had come to him with the idea of heading off on a foray with a supposedly well known scholar to find the answers to questions many others had sought for made him beam with pride. Oh, how he had cocked his nose high towards his hall mates then! And to think, he was only in his second year, not even through his basic studies on some subjects. Not to mention some of his grades were less than satisfactory.

Master Rodmire and Pietre hadn't been totally dishonest with him, he had reasoned. Master Donovan did have a Letter of Academia in The Studies of Man, as well as lesser degrees in many other subjects. So well known he was, but they neglected to enlighten him on the fact that Donovan was best know for his obsession with the Isle of Gorlick. Not that an obsession with any certain subject would have necessarily been bad, it just so happened that the men who searched for the answers he sought had done so many centuries ago. The Isle of Gorlick had been deemed by The League of Academia as no more than a myth.

And so now not only were his hall mates probably having a quite a good jest over him daily in the months he had been gone, but he was forced to follow a cranky old man who not just talked about his precious Isle of Gorlick constantly, he had to delve into each little intricacy. Ruben couldn't count the times Donovan had shown him his prized Brackenten medallion. It was a crude little thing, made long ago out of some mixture of copper and iron.

Donovan had quite a time finding a ship that would ferry them to the Isle. Not only was it not believed to exist, but it also resided in the midst of a particularly vicious part of the sea, which whirled with tempests most all the time. However, they did find one captain who could offer passage, for quite a fee of course. A small weasel-faced man, with a small crew who looked even less reputable. Ruben could still remember how the captain's breath smelled of lemon and smoke leaf.

Ruben was surprised when the captain did just as he said he would and rolled them through somewhat calm waters during what he said was when the eye of the storm moved outward. Old sailors' lore, he said. However none were ever brave enough to see what was on the other side.

"Eight days," the captain said as Donovan and Ruben disembarked. "And not a minute later, lest the sea swallows ye whole!"

This was their fifth day, and supposedly they had found a scholarly treasure trove. A smooth oval rock, which Donovan said had once been tied to the end of a carefully carved _ilsti_, or a pretty much a big hard stick Ruben had surmised. A few rock arrow heads, a piece of fabric that could have blown from anywhere, a broken antler, and other small trinkets, Treasures of the Brachens, Donovan said. Ruben had his doubts.

The first two days had been the most aggravating for Ruben; long, hot days spent out on the sweltering beach. Even though it was fall around the rest of Gaia, this island forsaken in the throws of the storms still scorched with heat, the sun beaming down on them while Ruben begged the clouds just within eyesight to come redeem him for just a moment. The endless sand-sifting and trailing had chaffed Ruben's thighs.

The next two had been more pleasant. Several hundred feet up from the beach at high tide was a somewhat defined tree line. Master Donovan had allowed Ruben to examine the flora and fauna of the isle. Under the shade of the massive oaks, maples, and liers he discovered what appeared to be two species of loi flowers and enjoyed the rare delicacy of a ripe tangero. Ruben thought it rather odd, however, that tropical flowers and the great trees of the forests coexisted on the same isle.

Now, however, he awkwardly made his way up the rugged steps between the gnarled trees leading up to an open spot on the hilltop. Ruben continued to curse his luck, trying his best to maintain his footing as the archaic stone steps crumbled under his feet. He wiped his brow as he finally made it up the pathway and gasped at what he saw.

A few feet in front of his Master Donovan was frozen, gaping at the massive burial mound in front of him. Axes adorned the crest, perhaps at one time having banners waving from them. Their rust did little to take away from their very presence. At the base of the mound was a stone tablet, crudely etched with the Brachen runes, emblazoned on the minds of even the most lacking League history students. A small walkway shouldered with Baronian steel spears connected the small path where they now stood and the mound.

"Master Donovan..." Ruben managed, trying to conceal his childish curiosity.

"Miraculous!" Donovan exclaimed. "My boy, do you realize what this means!?"

_It means you are not totally crazy_, Ruben mused, but he knew better than to verbalize his thoughts.

"This is a discovery of epic proportions, my lad!" Donovan continued. "Oh how they will rue the day they ever doubted me! I will be renowned throughout the ages for this! Donovan Cambri, Master Scholar of the Studies of Man and discoverer of antiquities!"

Frantically, Donovan pulled a tome from his shirt. An old, decrepit piece of work. The Vralak of the Brachen. Despite his introverted jesting, Ruben could not help but feel some sense of reverence. For thousands of years, the legends and stories of old talked of the Brachens, the warring island nation whose warriors met their deaths on the coasts of what is now Damcyan's dominion.

The Vralak, a record of their history and culture, was all that remained of their libraries and studies. Ruben studied it under Donovan's hovering tutelage while they sailed. The founding of the great maritime nation from among the scattered island _wulfs_, descriptions of their crude yet fearsome weapons, and sketches and paintings of their soothsayers and mages among other things captivated Ruben's mind for a short time. The last several pages, however, were a complete mystery to Ruben. They were written in a strange language and prose never before seen by even the most astute scholars. Strange symbols and formulas adorned some of the pages as well, making it look almost as if it were some sort of tutor scroll.

As quickly as he pulled the Vralak from his shirt, a blur of orange wisped in front of him, and the tome disappeared. Donovan stared incredulously at his hand for a moment. His turned his head side to side, making the most distraught noises Ruben had heard in his life. Ruben followed his master's eyes, noting nothing out of the ordinary. Then something on top of the mound caught his attention.

Atop the mound, an imp dressed in bright orange laid on his back, thumbing through the tome. Ruben had seen imps before; short creatures with almost wooden facial features and long, slender noses. Most often people encountered them in the woods, becoming victims of their tricks and being relieved of their belongings. On rare occasions the encounter might become deadly, and even rarer still an oak of imps might assail a small village. It had been a couple hundred years since they had been seen in any strength.

This imp was different, Ruben could tell. While it still had the same mischievous look of the rest of it's race, it seemed somewhat more cunning. It's bright orange tunic was trimmed with golden ruffles at cuffs and looked almost regal, and his hat look as fire. The imp looked disinterested in the two men, until Donovan spotted him and spoke.

"Give me that book, you wretched little monster!" he screamed, "It is a record of antiquity and one of a kind!"

"_One of a kind, one of a kin_d," the imp started in his high pitched voice, never taking his eyes off the page. "_Surely the master of myths won't mind, if a lowly imp rustles a page in kind_!"

"Riddles won't avail you once I catch you, imp!" Donovan yelled. The imp laughed and looked down at them. In the blink of an eye, a puff of fire and smoke appeared in front of Ruben's face. He coughed and stepped back, his eyes watering. Once he had regained his vision, he noticed that Donovan's pants were around his ankles. The imp sat smugly back atop the mound laughing gleefully.

"Strong words for a weak man, master of myths," the imp stated. Donovan huffed furiously as he pulled his pants up.

"You must be the Prankster of Wester Wood," Donovan said.

"Prankster of Wester Wood, Tickler of Vara, Tree Sitter of Hobs, many names have I!" the imp said as he jumped to his feet and danced with the tome as if it were a fair maiden.

"Return the book to me now!" Donovan screamed.

"Miss out on the history in making, would I." The imp said, thumbing through the book again. "An old piece of papers is the Vralak, older than me by the rain and maybe smell. _Some men push dough, and spears some throw, but none yet know what an impling knows! _Amazement and watch, and revel in the imps knowledge!"

Donovan's mouth dropped as the imp began to read the tome, and stood entranced. Ruben was much less amused. All he knew was that he was stuck on a deserted island next to a burial mound he didn't really care to be near. And to make things worse, now there was an imp to torment them and prank them all the way back to the league, if it wished. Ruben sighed and shook his head, checking his pockets to make sure his belongings were still there in light of the imp. Satisfied they were still there, he glanced back up to watch the imp.

It was several moments that he turned the pages, apparently reading for a bit until he got bored and turning a few pages to read again. Finally it made it to the back of the book and began to speak in a harsh tongue. Ruben startled when Donovan through his hands up and stepped towards the mound.

"No stop!" he cried, "You don't know what you're doing!" The imp glanced up and cast an amused smile, then continued to read from the book. Donovan continued to protest, and the imp continued to read.

A dark light began to emit from the book. In an instant the imp was sitting in the top of a nearby tree, a look of fear on it's face. The book still laid open in mid-air above the mound, the dark light shooting into the sky. Ruben took a step back, what little courage and curiosity failing him. Then it happened.

The earth began to shake beneath his feet. Long forgotten voices, dark and evil, whispered through the trees. The sounds of the forest had left them, and seconds after that a strong wind gust over them. The mound began to tremble harder, and some of the dirt fell away. Donovan moved towards the stairs, almost knocking Ruben over.

A black hand pushed it's way out of the mound. Ruben shrieked and jumped back, but his eyes were held by the gruesome site. Another hand pushed it's way out, then they fought to reveal the forearms, then the elbows. Unhuman roars and shrieks caught Ruben's ears. He ran over to the edge looking down into the forest. Through the leaves and trees he could see figures struggling out of the dirt. Donovan screamed, forcing Ruben to jerk his head back to the mound.

The ancient warlord had managed to push it's head through the earth surrounding his tomb. Long, black hair, matted with dirt covered it's eyes. It scrambled furiously to free itself, then looked up at Donovan and Ruben. It's eyes were a combination of red malice and hate, it's face conveying the hatred of the centuries. It let out a loud roar and worked ever more fervently to pull itself from the mound. Ruben turned to run but tripped over a tree root. He found his feet quickly though, and scrambled down the path behind Ruben. Urine dripped from the crotch of his breeches.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The room was quiet, with the smell of burned sage wafting throughout. The seven students sat scattered across the room in no certain order. Their legs were crossed and their eyes closed, deep in thought. Occasionally the silence was broken by a heavy sigh or a joyous chuckle. A more serene moment would be hard to find.

Kara sat in her state of meditation, counting the many blessings the Master had given her. At the age of five her parents had sent her away from her home in Evenrush and gave her to the Order of the Healer. She had known she was unwanted at birth; her father forever reminded her. Another daughter to blight his hopes of having a viable heir for House Kilbranch. The first few months she would cry herself to sleep, wishing to be playing with her older sisters or cuddling the baby one. Forgiveness was easier for her than for most, and she began the path to magidom with a strong sense of duty.

And how far she had come. Only sixteen, and already having mastered more white words than most of the veterans in the ranks. Why, at ten she had already mastered The Restoration! The more dim minded of the castle's soldiers preferred to call it Cure Three, which was seen as a slight to the Order of the Healer, but Kara didn't care. Many of the men mocked what they did not understand, and that was their right as mortal men she reckoned.

After many hours the door opened, causing Kara to rouse and turn cast her eyes towards the disturbance. An old, thin man in white silks stood at the door. A small trail of white hair wound around his wrinkled scalp. He clasped his soft hands together in front of him and smiled.

"I trust you all have had a rather reflective session," Urmage Herefal said to the students. "It must be a travesty for me to disturb you, but Garond has had a rather nice rabbit stew steaming for nigh an hour."

Kara quickly slipped on her leather sandals and stood. Apparently it had been to quick and she stumbled for a bit. An arm grasped her shoulder to steady her.

"Careful, sis, this is meditation, not ale!"

Yarieve was short and a bit on the on the plump side, but she was as sweet as an island red fruit. Her auburn hair was cropped short, which complimented her full face well. She was two years Kara's senior, but had come to Baron three years after her. It hadn't taken long for them to become best friends. Many a day they had spent by the small creeks running through the town, healing frogs and speaking Holy Orb on shadows.

"I know," Kara giggled, "My legs must have fallen asleep. Come on, I haven't had Garond's rabbit stew in months!"

They walked swiftly from the room, taking extra care to maintain their posture as they hoped to race past their classmates. Not that it mattered much. They would all sit in the common hall and be served by the kitchen boys and serving girls just the same as the swords and dragoons. While some considered it a privilege to sup with dragoons, Kara was sure she could find more savory company in one of the inns in the town than the foul mouthed regular soldiers of the castle. They had made her red in the face from embarrassment more than once.

The common hall was bustling when they arrived. Kara and Yarieve pressed themselves up against the wall as the boisterous soldiers staggered past. _They are already drunk. Even this early in the day. _They wore their red surcoats and bronze helms well enough. Their swords were still hung from the hip, as they were required to wear them until even watch, and then sleep with their hands on the hilts. It was a false outlay, though.

The sight of the dragoons, walking in single file, gave her some relief. At least these men seemed disciplined. Their gray armor and spiked helms shined in the sunlight as it shone through the window. Each one had a spear strapped to his back and a short sword at his side. They walked over to a row of tables , the same they sat at every day, and stood beside their chairs.

"Dragoons dismissed!"

Captain Damon Talon stood rigid as his men took their seats. He was a tall, stout man well into his forties. Long, blond hair, characteristic of the people from the northern mountains, draped down his back. His skin, however, was tanned dark from years spent on the training yards. After a few moments of running his eyes up and down the tables, he sat with his officers as well.

Kara and Yarieve sat at the end of their table in the middle a sea of but part of Baron's might. Dragoons and soldiers there were, of course. Chocobo riders from the plains, constables, and swords of the lesser lords also filled the hall. On the other side from the Order of the Healer also sat their black counterparts. The Order of Might.

The Order of Might were the black mages of Baron. As Gaia is full of extremes; night and day, life and death, so were the Order of the Healer and the Order of Might. Where the "healers" must be righteous, compassionate people with sincere interest at heart to perform their miracles, the black mages practiced their occult arts without any divine sensibilities to guide them. Their occult art was centered around inflicting casualties in war, and in the worst cases using their arcane powers to assault the free peoples.

"We have two days of lesson leave coming up," Yarieve said as they took their seats in the middle of the long table. "I was thinking I might pay ride out to Baronton. Would you like to join me?"

"Baronton?" Kara said with a raised eyebrow. Baronton was a beautiful town west of Baron, renowned for it's natural hot springs. While Kara was very fond of the town itself, the swimming holes and slick, stone slides made her uncomfortable. While she had been told many times how pretty she was, she dreaded people to her in a short dress, let alone swim cloths. Not to mention the immorality of the outer town after night fall.

"You know how I hate the pools, Yarieve. The last time I even tried on my swim cloths and was so scared I couldn't even leave my room. I would best serve my time here, meditating and studying."

"What... oh my Kara!" Yarieve said. "No, no, no! I mean to go to the Master's shrine just north of there. It's still within the sight of the Baron watch, yet far enough out to be peaceful. The elders retired stay there, and I hope to have a long talk with some of them."

"That would be good," Kara said. Yarieve's intentions for going perked Kara up a bit. "Elder Hireside has taken up residence there I hear. I would love to see him again."

"I forgot about that," Yarieve said. "I remember when he taught me how to ride a horse at the shrine..."

The rest of Yarieve's memory was lost in a roar as the serving lads and girls exited the kitchen from the massive oak doors at the front. Many of them carried trays laden down with bowls of steaming stew and mugs of water and sweet juices and ale for the soldiers. It took near half an hour for them to serve everyone, Kara's table being one of the last. She didn't mind though. She knew each of the servers by name. Many of them had been her friends over the years. She smiled as she watched some of the girls flirting with the soldiers as they whisked their trays from hand to hand.

Yarieve gave a squeal of excitement as one of the boys sat a bowl of stew in front of her. Due to the amount of meat needed, and the time to obtain it, rabbit stew was a treat. The steam off of it was enough to make ones mouth water, and Garond wasn't the head preparer of Castle Baron for his love of reading.

Kara let out a small groan of anticipation as she swirled her spoon around in the stew, letting the smell overtake her senses. She lifted it to her mouth and closed her eyes, ready to savor the hearty yet sweet taste she had come to love in her years here. Suddenly the table jostled, shattering the moment. Bewildered, she opened her eyes.

A tall, slender young man looked at her, and then shifted his head quickly to Yarieve. His short, curly, red hair flowed out from under his subtle white cap. His white tunic, embroidered with intricate crimson design, was soaked with sweat. Over the din of the common room, Kara could almost hear the sound of his panting.

"Geoff!" Yarieve said. "What are you doing away from the training grounds?"

"They called it off," he managed between breaths, then waved his hands. Kara could tell by the look in his eyes that he had something he just couldn't wait to share.

"You're not going to believe it," he said, "We were down on the grounds doing our drills, right? Then all of a sudden Loric came down to the field and told us there weren't going to be any more drills today. So after I had went back to the rooms and washed up, I decided to take a walk down to the courtyard and chat with Harold before seeing what was for supper.

"Well, as I was on my way I noticed Urmage Herefal talking to Captain Derryn and decided to casually stroll by, crafty like I am. They were quick enough to shoo me away, but not before I heard something rather interesting."

Kara smiled as she savored her first taste of stew. It was nice to see Geoff again, she thought. It had been two months since he had been picked to go for battle drills in the yard, and it had left him very little time to see his friends. Kara guessed he must have bumped into every table between them and the door on his way, eager to spread whatever small trinket on intrigue he might have overheard.

"Let me guess," Yarieve said with a chuckle, "They are sending you off to command some brave host against a horde of implings?"

"Oh, no," he replied, "Even better. KluYa will be here before morning, and Archmage Dominic is arranging a fanfare for his arrival."

"That's odd," Kara said, then wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "KluYa comes and goes quite regularly."

"Ah,but it's not for KluYa, but who he is escorting," Geoff said.

"And who would that be?" Kara asked. Yarieve was too busy devouring her bowl to do anything but open her eyes with inquiringly and glare.

"Why, none other than Master Tellah," Geoff said with a great air of accomplishment, then placed his hands on his hips. Kara choked and blew her stew all over his already soaked tunic.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Common Hall, mostly referred to as the Commons, was situated on the eastern side of Castle Baron. Six stories tall, the upper three levels housed the pupil mages while on the lowest level resided some of the lesser mages. Those lesser mages more often than not were the ones who had completed their training and had not been given assignment, nor did the other chambers of the caste have room for them.

Each floor of the Commons was simply a hallway, lined with windows and ornate torch-holders, with ten rooms on either side. A bright red rug flowed from one end to the other, meeting a stairway at the back of the tower and traveling up it. There was a quartery on each floor by the stairs, holding various personal items and toiletries should the occupants have need of them. The other nineteen rooms were decorated rather lavishly by common standards. The two beds in each room were of fine Troian oak with matching master's desks for studies. Baronian red rugs trimmed in gold covered the floors. There also were a trunk at the end of each bed.

Of course each room was littered with the pupils personal items. Those who had come from more well off families tended to have armoires and dressers, while those of more modest means may have opted for yet more trunks and perhaps satchels or packs. Kara had inhabited the Commons since she had arrived, at first rooming with an elderly mage, Lucille, who played grandmother to the pupils. Once she had advanced in age and maturity enough to where the Urmages felt comfortable with the idea, they allowed her to take a room on the third floor. Finally getting Yarieve as a roommate a couple of years before made her room time that much better.

The two girls dashed up the first level of the commons, trampling a quartermaster in the process. What a day this would be! Master Tellah was one of the most revered mages on Gaia. Stories and myths seemed to surround him where ever he went, but whenever the story teller was asked if they had seen him, very seldom had they.

Kara had had the opportunity to see the mage once, at a ceremony for the mages graduating to the ranks . He wore a flowing purple cloak embroidered with crimson. The staff he carried was gnarled and twisted, almost as if three limbs had grown together, struggling with themselves through the years. His hair was wild, yet somehow majestic and shared the same golden brown as his long beard and bushy eyebrows. He seemed to be only around thirty summers old, yet he commanded authority in everything; the way he walked, talked, even the way he held his head as he listened. Kara had never seen his eyes, however. He fancied dark-tinted glasses, the only she had ever seen.

The two girls dashed into their room and closed the door behind them. Kara pounced onto her bed and giggled when she looked up at Yarieve.

"It is going to be so awesome these next few days!" Kara said. "I am sure Archmage Dominic has all sorts of festivities planned. I remember the last time Master Tellah came there was a fair, and spell contests, and dancing, and knight games!"

"I wonder why he is coming," Yarieve mused. "Master Tellah normally only visits Baron for something important. Do you think there might be something Archmage Dominic is keeping from us? Maybe some of us are getting to advance early. Or maybe there will be a new lord raised up. And it has been far too long since we have had a good fair!"

"Agreed, Yarieve," Kara said. "I hope they have some of those delicious turkey legs and some sweet apple pie!"

xxxxx

Kara, Yarieve, and Geoff stood on the battlements long into the night awaiting the party to arrive. Prince Erik had led the welcoming party himself just after sundown to escort KluYa and Master Tellah to the castle. Much to the girls' excitement, the castle's band was lined up the street entering the Golden Gate, and an array of knights and soldiers stood ahead of them. None of the nobles nor high ranking officials were anywhere in sight, though. Kara figured they were inside the castle somewhere, getting ready for quite a showing.

Every so often she had to beat back the heaviness of the fatigue that set in on her momentarily as she gazed out into the night. She had been awake since early that morning, or perhaps it was now considered the morning before. Although all the classes had been dismissed for the next three days, she had found it hard to take a nap. Her mind was racing like a whipped stallion. Not only was Master Tellah intriguing, but KluYa was quite the center of attention as well.

The wind blew cool and refreshing that night. Considering her current state, it was he perfect weather; too cold would send her to her bed to bundle up and too hot would have just been miserable. She was definitely blessed in that respect. The over-crowded battlements were another story, though. Servants, cooks, stable hands, students, and probably everyone else in the castle who didn't have at least some small part in the opening festivities. Kara and the other two had pondered going down to the town walls and being the first to see the progression enter, but the long walk would have been made much more troublesome. Every townsperson was out and about and tended to be more rowdy that the castle folk. Besides, the town walls were much smaller.

"I think I might just stroll on down 'ere when they make it inside the castle," Geoff mused as he pointed back into the massive courtyard, "and pat ole' Tellah on the back and tell him I'm going with him when rides out!"

Geoff had always been two things since Kara had known him; spastic and a dreamer. Kara giggled as she remembered all the great things he said he would do, like the time he told Urmage Herefal not to worry too much about the mages because one day Urmage Geoff would fix whatever he had blundered. Of course it got him two weeks of kitchen help, but it was worth it to all of them to see the look on Urmage Herefal's face.

"That I would like to see," Yarieve said, looking up at him with a sheepish grin.

"I really would," Geoff replied. He furrowed his brow, then shook his head. "But I'd hate to steal KluYa and Tellah's glory on such a perfect night. Who knows? Maybe Master Tellah would even challenge me to a dual of the spell. It would be the best thing most of the people in that wretched little hamlet below could ever hope to see! They'd even write songs about it. 'The Battle of Master Geoff and Master Tellah'! It'd be most epic, I think."

"You can be so full of yourself sometimes!" Kara laughed as she put her hand on his arm. Geoff turned his head and sighed mockingly.

They continued to wait for a few more hours. Sleep had finally began to wrap it's hazy fingers around Kara now. She staggered for a brief moment, then straightened and leaned against the wall of the battlement. Good conversation and another nice refreshing breeze would have helped her tremendously, but she and her friends had exhausted all the interesting topics of the day as young ones will often do and the breeze had traveled on to meet KluYa and Tellah. Geoff was standing not too far away from her. With his hands lightly grasping the wall, his head was tilted back and his eyes closed. The childish and forever silly grin she was so used to stretched across his face.

Yarieve was crouched down with her back to the wall, sleeping. Kara couldn't help but look to her, then back to Geoff. It was apparent to her that her two closest friends were equally smitten with one another. It always softened her heart to see the two of them together, watching intently as the two of them sometimes blundered their way through a conversation. _They are both such good hearted people_, Kara thought.

Suddenly there was a commotion down in the town. Kara's attention quickly turned to the Mason's Gate. It was too far to actually see anything, but she could hear cheers erupting from the crowd gathered at the edge of the town. Then, locking themselves in a contest with the cheers, a band began to play "Oh, Baronia". The honored guests had arrived.

Everyone on the castle wall stirred. Kara just giggled in her exhaustion and looked over to Yarieve who was jumping to her feet. The two of them grabbed each others arms and laughed. Geoff stared down at the road below. Around the three now were mostly lesser nobles. Kara recognized a lot of them, and although she knew some of them would have preferred for her to be anywhere but with them she still cast a smile to each of them.

Any man of nobility who hadn't seen too few or too many seasons had assembled in the courtyard. Even now, they were bustling into some sort of a cognizant formation on either side of the road. Those who were knights took their places directly at the opening of the gate, their swords point-down in front of them. Most of them wore the glistening, silvery armor of the Baronian houses, trimmed in crimson with matching capes. They were truly a majestic sight to behold, even from Kara's vantage point. Knights of lower birth filed in down from them, and then were the men-at-arms. Finally, filling out the ranks at the end were the Dragoons.

It took what seemed hours for the Tellah and his escort to wind through the town. The people on the castle walls caught scant glimpses of the party off in the distance. Kara was bubbling with excitement when she realized they were probably just moments away from being into full view when she heard trumpets blare behind her.

When she turned and looked into the courtyard, she saw more men coming into the courtyard farther up on chocobos. It didn't take long at all for her to realize it was King Leon and the Royal Guard. They were too far away for her to make out their faces, but she knew the king by his golden armor and his ornate crown. Two men in like armor flanked him, with the Royal Guard in their crimson dress uniforms.

Slowly the King gaited forward with his entourage. Although Kara had seen them many times before, she was mesmerized. Like statues they rode, each man keeping his eyes on the gate ahead. Kara hadn't noticed that Tellah had entered the gate until the castle walls roared with the voices of those who stood on it. Kara looked down, just in time to see Prince Erik stride in wearing dark, iron battle armor. Perhaps a dozen knights came in behind him in two files, then Kara saw them.

KluYa rode in behind the knights, waving and turning in what seemed to be an effort to make eye contact with every person in the castle. His long, blonde hair tried to hide his smiling face. He wasn't wearing any armor, however. He had donned a regular green cloak, caked with mud. His sword hung by his side, but she noticed it was in a rather bland sheath and not the intricate ones the knights were wearing. Kara squirmed where she stood when he wiped a hand across his brow and threw his golden locks back. If ever there was a man worthy of myth and legend, it was he.

Behind him rode a man in similar garb with his hood pulled down and a sword at his side. In his right hand he carried a staff, but Kara was too far away to tell anything else about it. A dozen more knights came in behind him. Once they were several yards inside the gate, Kara heard the whine of the hinges and felt the gate moving below her. She jolted a bit when it slammed.

Leon and his entourage had now closed the gap between themselves and Erik. Once they were close enough to each other, Erik's knights moved off to the side leaving only KluYa and who Kara could only guess was Tellah. Erik took his place beside his father and brothers. KluYa talked with the king, and after several moments, his companion threw his hood back. Kara noted his matted hair, but before she could think any further on it, Tellah threw his hands up and his voice could be heard almost audibly by even those standing on the castle wall.


	4. Chapter 3

****Authors Note** I hope you guys are enjoying this story. I've had it in my head for years. Sorry for the delay between new chapters. I don't have a lot of free time to write. Please R&R!**

**Chapter 3 **

Christopher's chocobo darted through the trees. He scanned the forest looking for any sign of the beast. Christopher and his hunting party had tracked it for the better part of the morning. While crocodiles weren't necessarily fast creatures, it had quite a head start since the night before. While the procession was making it's way through town, the crocodile had ravaged one of the smaller farms on the outskirts of the outer town.

Exhaustion had set in a few hours before, but now it bore down on him. Sweat rolled down his brow and onto the back of his chocobo. The light armor he wore now seemed like full battle dress, and his spear felt like a tree trunk. The report had come to his father about the crocodile shortly after Master Tellah had arrived. Christopher knew that it would have done just as well to send out some lesser knights, but King Leon had made such an event out of Master Tellah's arrival that he must send Christopher to head the party as a sort of show for the nobility. One of the duties of the youngest son, he knew.

"Prince!" Captain Derryn called as he reined his chocobo in next to Christopher and pointed at ridge ahead, "The beast has been spotted across the ridge! It appears to be heading toward the brackish creek!"

Christopher nodded and guided the chocobo at a dead run. If the crocodile made it to the creek, they would never catch it. This Christopher knew. Brackish water was normally fresh at low tide, then salt at high tide. The murkiness would give the crocodile the perfect cover to escape their party, and the opportunity to forage. Now that it knew a plentiful and easy source of food, it could possibly bring others with it next time. Not to mention the tarnish King Leon would suffer to his reputation after making such an affair out of the hunt.

Hearty cries could be heard from across the ridge now. The tree trunk in his hand began to feel more like a spear again, and he sat straighter in the saddle. Adrenaline pumped through his veins now as the thrill of the hunt began to overtake him. Derryn and a half dozen Baronian Royal Guards trailed in behind heart began to race even faster as he topped the crest of the ridge.

Down below the crocodile writhed between the trees, it's massive tail crashing into a small tree and totally uprooting it. Four other royal guards stood between it and the creek, just about fifty or so yards behind them. Magemark Loric Greenfall stood off to the side, watching intently. The guards' chocobos danced in front of the crocodile, being wary to stay far enough away from the beast in case it lashed out with teeth or tail.

One of the guards lunged forward with his spear. It seemed as if it would pierce it's throat, then at the last second the crocodile whipped it's head around and caught the spear in it's crushing jaws. It pulled the guard from his saddle and with a scream he flew over top of the crocodile to land with a thud on the forest floor. His helmet rolled away and his sword belt snapped. Instinctively the crocodile spun around, hitting one of the chocobos with it's tail as it's rider moved to save his comrade. Chocobo and rider fell in unison, and while the man was getting back on his feet the other two guards charged forward, both of their spears finding their marks in the crocodile's armored side.

Christopher raced down the hill, watching as the crocodile thrashed and rolled over the first guard's leg. He let out an anguished scream, but was still able to pull himself away from the carnage. Christopher saw the bone protruding from his left leg. Again, though, the beast turned towards him as Christopher and the others quickly closed the gap between them.

The crocodile snapped at the guard, it's sole thoughts turning to survival. The guard continued to frantically claw his way from it's jaws, but it would only take a few more steps for the beast to be overtake him. It launched itself toward him, and at the last moment a lightening bolt descended from the sky and struck the crocodile in it's back. The two guards' chocobos flapped their wings and squawked in fear, and Christopher fought to control his after the blinding light.

Another bolt of lightening descended, this one seemingly larger than the first. This one held on, however. The crocodile convulsed and thrashed for a several seconds, giving the guard time to scramble away. It didn't matter, though. The crocodile finally crashed into the grass and laid still. A few seconds later a mixture of charred hide and grime overwhelmed Christopher's nostrils and he led his chocobo over to where the injured guard lay, clutching his broken leg. It was Amaris, one of the younger guards, Christopher noted. _A valiant and skilled fighter_, he thought, _but too head strong._

"Be at ease," Christopher said as he laid a hand on the man's brow. "You done well, Amaris. Is it only your leg that hurts?"

"Yes, Prince Christopher," Amaris said as the lanky, dark haired man grimaced, "but it hurts bloody enough!"

"You arrogant pup!" Derryn said as he stepped off his chocobo and paced towards them. "What in the abyss was that? I thought I trained you better! Instead of waiting for the rest of us or allowing Loric to..." And with that Derryn kicked him in his injured leg. Amaric screamed in pain.

"Derryn, that is enough!" Christopher said. "This man needs to be healed. If you wait too long he'll never be able to walk again."

"Aye," Derryn replied, "Maybe next time the little prick will think a little more before he almost gets himself killed. Heal him up Loric, if you will, so I can break his leg a second time!"

By now the others were sitting semi-circle around Christopher, Derryn, and Amaric on their chocobos, except for the one who was knocked aside by the crocodile's tail. He hovered over his fallen animal as it squawked gently. Amaris went wide-eyed, apparently not relishing the idea of having his leg broken a second time. Christopher didn't think Derryn would go to those lengths, but if he did it somehow wouldn't surprise him.

"You know," Loric said, "I seem to be suffering from fatigue. I can't quite remember if the spell I am thinking of is The Curing or The Flame." Christopher grinned and shook his head as he looked at Loric and then back to Derryn.

Captain Derryn Northfield stood a little taller than most men, with enough muscle to be intimidating, but not so much that it ever impeded his swiftness in combat. His face was angular with a pointed chin and matching nose. Recessed in that face were slits with azure blue eyes. One lord's daughter had remarked to Christopher once that she would have found him attractive, except that when he smiled he sneered. Christopher figured that his battle hardened demeanor didn't do much for him in the eyes of the ladies, either.

Derryn had come to Baron from the Fieldlands in the north of Baronia when Christopher had been just a little boy to squire for Sir Oress, one of the Baronian Knights. His family, the Northfields, occupied one of the vast manors there and had made their fortune growing food and selling it to the peoples north and east. In time Derryn proved to be better at arms than every knight in the castle. During Summer Tide festivals one year, King Leon raised him to captain of the Baronian Guard.

Magemark Loric Greenfall must have been cut from the same cloth as Derryn. Tall and imposing, he shirked the clean, ornate look of his peers and opted to keep his thinning gray-tinged dark hair long. A grim stare met almost all who crossed his path, and he was quick to harsh words with his pupils. Christopher knew very little of Loric's history before coming to Baronia, although he had seen many years as Magemark to Baronia.

Loric knelt beside Amaris and bowed his head ,staring at Amaris' leg. He then placed his hands just above the splintered bone protruding from the skin. Blood still trickled out of the wound, and Amaric's face had turned white. A low, blue light began to radiate from the space between Loric's hands and Amaris. The boy's strained visage eased, and the light got brighter. The bone slowly seeped back into the skin, then the skin itself turned blue, and the colors deepened.

The Markmage looked towards the sky, then opened his eyes. In a sudden flash, the light was gone. Amaric laid before his comrades, but now instead of heaving in fits of pain he slept peacefully. The leg that had once been twisted and broken was restored. Loric stood up looked to one of the guards.

"Get some water to dump on him," Loric said, "Don't make his rousing be a pleasant one."

With that, Loric turned and walked over to his chocobo and mounted. Christopher eyed his guard. All were proven warriors in the highest regard. Even in their light armor, they still looked regal in their own right. The hardened leather that covered their chests held the emblem of Baronia; two golden swords crossed on a red background. A golden wreath rested atop the swords. Their tunics and breeches were the same crimson as their emblem. Christopher couldn't help but feel a sense of pride to look upon them.

"Well done, men," he said. "A good hunt, and a beast worthy to pull through the streets of Baron. You two, get it tied. It will take at least six Chocobos just to move it. Get some water and rest a bit, then we will make our way back to Baron."

With that, Christopher turned and mounted his Chocobo. He waited a minute while Amaris' comrades doused him two helmet's worth of water. Christopher chuckled as he sprang up, coughing and hacking while he swatted at them. Christopher then turned and moved toward the creek. Out of the small sack on the side of his chocobo, he pulled some dried beef and a flask of water.

"You are too easy on the lad," Derryn said as he pulled up beside Christopher.

"And I think you are too hard on him, Derryn," Christopher replied. "He had just had his leg broken and was almost eaten by a crocodile."

"Aye," Derryn replied, "And what about the next time? If it isn't beaten into his thick head the lout will most likely get himself killed. He's never been in any serious battle, and this is his first hunt that wasn't a hog or a stag. When we get back to Baron, I'll make this quite a learning experience for him."

"If only you could," Christopher laughed, "Father has invited every noble in Greater Baronia to attend the festival. You'll be shaking hands with every captain and knight and dancing with every lord's daughter for a week."

"Hmmph," Derryn grunted, "I had hoped King Leon wouldn't go through such trivial formalities. Apparently, Master Tellah must have felt the same. I half expected him roast your father and Dominic where they stood." Christopher took a bite of his beef and chewed it slowly, mulling over what Derryn had said.

"Master Tellah," Christopher added after he swallowed, "isn't very much like Dominic in that respect. Dominic delights in ceremonies and formal engagements. Master Tellah, however, I think would rather have had his trip here kept unnoticed. You know, this isn't the first time this has happened.

"I think it may have more to do with Father's being restless. Since he crushed the Dereen pirates, he hasn't really had any grand cause to celebrate, except Erik's wedding. Sometimes I think he almost wishes for one of his lords to rise up against him, or a conquest in some other part of the world. You have seen how tends to leave the matters of rule to the stewards and rides off to the tourney fields with his knights."

"King Leon is a warrior, no doubt," Derryn said. "I stood with him from the shores of Baronia to the forests of Troia fighting those wretched Dereens. I would be very well tempted to run my sword through my own heart if I had to sit on that throne like he does. Still, it isn't any reason to make every wandering wizard's visit means for a festival. I have a hard time making it through Summer Tides and the Harvest, let alone any others."

"True," Christopher said, then took a swig from his flask. "You better eat, my friend. It's going to be a long ride back to Baronia. Especially pulling that foul smelling thing.


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry so short on this one. I wanted to add this little scene, but I am ready to get more into the meat of the story. Enjoy! There's a lot more to come.**

**Chapter 4**

The delectable smells of fresh pastries and smoked beef mingled with the stale smell of the three day old horse dung the workers of the city hadn't found. Merchants lined the streets, soliciting all manners of product as the loud din of the crowd haggled and bargained, shouted and cheered. Fools dressed in all manner of makeshift costumed roamed through the town. Torches and lanterns hung everywhere, illuminating the night.

This is how it had been for three days now. Kara had slept very little. She knew she would regret it once her lessons resumed, but she had the excitement and energy of youth in her. Every opportunity to see some oddity or dignitary from a far off land, she jumped to it. What little coin she had saved, she spent on all manners of exotic food and trinket. It was the most fun she had had in quite a while.

It did her heart good to see the town having such a good time. The droning of day to day life wore on everyone at one time or another. Children were now running through the town laughing and playing at all hours of the day and night. Couples, young and old, walked hand in hand through the boisterous throng. Even the knights and the guard would make their appearances now and again, joining in some game or taking in some spectacle.

Kara's favorite thing about the festivities thus far had been a man, Yomo, and a little person named Timmy. Little people, some regular humans turned that way by enchantments and many others born that way to little parents, were not so much an oddity in the capital of Baronia. They were less than a foot tall with soft features and high voices. Yomo was an older man dressed in simple garb, but Timmy was seen sporting miniature Baronian armor, a maidens dress, and even suit so regal he could pass for a king. The two of them put on quite a show. Kara and Yarieve had seen them four times in one day alone.

Kara and Yarieve were sitting at a small table in front of a small bakery on the main road through town, The Knight's Road. The shrewish little baker was profiting greatly from the festivities, judging by the make shift patio he had erected from scrap timbers and cloth with mismatched chairs and tables. The two girls could have sat in front of any number of establishments, all of them more elegant, but they had chosen this one because the pastries were not only tasty but also well priced. It also didn't serve strong drinks, which kept the likelihood of encountering the drunk and rowdy to a minimum.

"I wish life could always be like this," Kara said. "Everyone just enjoying themselves; being merry. It's such a relief to not have to worry about the problems of tomorrow."

"You are so right," Yarieve replied, then took a sip of grape juice. "No books, no classes, no one to answer to. I really think I could come to get used to this. Great food, entertainment, conversation. But alas," she feigned mockingly, "what would we do once our coin ran out? Perhaps we could become professional food tasters? Or maybe even find people to pay us to find whatever grand places we could direct them. That would be quite interesting." Kara laughed.

"Sister," Kara replied, "There may be a little flaw in your plans. While I very seriously doubt anyone would pay us to have their fun for them, there is also the little matter of festivities ending, probably in the next few days. What would we do then?"

"Oh, that wouldn't be a problem," said Yarieve, "We could just float from town to town, selling our magnificent service of folly! And in between towns, I am sure our youthful beauty would at least get us fed, if not even drawn to town in some noble's carriage!"

Both girls giggled, then Yarieve snorted and cupped her hands over her mouth which made the girls giggle louder. A shadow then loomed over the table, and the scent of rose oil mingle with the stale stench of smoke. Both of the girls turned their heads. Two hooded figures loomed over them. The sun was at their backs, thus making it hard for the girls to make out their faces.

"Pardon me, dear ladies," a familiar voice said, "but would it possible for us to join you?"

"Archmage Dominic!" the girls said in unison, then Kara stood up.

"Please,have our seats," Kara said, and Yarieve clumsily bolted up.

"No, no," Dominic chuckled, putting his hand up, "Tellah and I will get our own seats, thank you."

Kara went wide eyed at the statement, and she imagined Yarieve's mouth was gaping so wide a chocobo could ride through it. Both of the wizards donned worn travel cloaks. Kara watched as they pulled some chairs from another table and sat down, which the girls slowly did as well. They were all crowded together, almost elbow to elbow, the table being made to seat two only. Kara winced when Yarieve accidentally bumped her in the knee.

"I apologize for the close quarters, my ladies," Dominic said, pulling his hood tight to conceal his long, gray hair, "But it keeps Master Tellah and I a bit farther away from the eyes of strangers, if you know what I mean. Why, if we didn't have these cloaks on you two may very well be trampled this very moment." He smiled and glanced over at Tellah.

"Bah," Tellah said, "There wouldn't even be any masses if you and your fool of a king didn't rouse every person for a hundred leagues to come and see the spectacle you have made of me!

"Please excuse Master Tellah, little ones," Dominic said as Yarieve risked a giggle, "He had quite a harrowing trip from Damcyan. What with killing a beast in the wilderness north of Baronia and all. All of the festivities have already taken their toll on our dear Tellah."

"Get on with it!" Tellah said, taking note of the jest in Dominic voice, "You insisted on asking the pupil, so get on with it!"


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The desert wind was blowing hard. Kelvin pressed his body hard against the dune, trying to keep the sand from being blown into his eyes. His black robe, while light to bear, did little to keep the heat from bearing down on him. He cast a hand quickly to his side, assuring himself that his short sword still hung there. The weight of the crossbow on his back left little doubt that is was still slung to his aching back.

Over three dozen of the Rangers, Kaipo's keepers of the law in the vast Haram desert, were likewise huddled behind the dunes. Their garb was anything but uniform; black robes, green tunics, bandanas, and helms. This may have betrayed them as a ragtag band of misfits, but it only gave off that impression. These men dedicated their lives to killing the various groups of bandits that preyed on the merchants traveling the desert, their commerce being Kaipo's major source of income.

Kelvin had been trailing Zaijeel and his band of raiders for over two months. They had eluded the Rangers for years now, disrupting trade on the northern route leading to Damcyan and Fabul. The chief constable had given Kelvin and four others orders to track Zaijeel and find his hideout. Kelvin discovered that there was no hideout. Zaijeel traveled to the port towns on the coast and sold what he stole, while trusting what coin he couldn't carry to his two trusted lieutenants. Finding out this small bit of information wasn't without risks. Kelvin was the last of the five sent to track Zaijeel still alive.

"Kid," one of the Rangers closest to him said, "You had better be right. After a nine day ride and then sitting here for three more there had better be a little compensation, or I may just have to take it out of your hide." While all goods proven to be stolen from a certain person were always returned, Zaijeel had a regular practice of trying to leave no benefactors to his aid.

"They'll be here!" Kelvin said, pushing his face harder against the dune.

Kelvin hated the way the Rangers treated him. Granted he was only fifteen, but he had served the same as they had for the last six years. The first three years may have been spent sweeping the camel stalls, taking inventory of their supplies, and all the other grunt work delegated to those his age, but he had spent the other three risking life and limb, just as they had. The life span of scouts like Kelvin was only a couple of years. He had already lasted longer than the five boys he considered his "class", not to mention most of the ones who came after him.

The next couple of hours seemed like an eternity to Kelvin. He was tired. Aside from the time he had been with the Rangers he had been hard on Zaijeel's trail for twice as many days, then back to the outpost at Quorl. His life had been sand, wind, sweat, and silence. All Kelvin was looking forward to now was the banter of the tavern girls back in Kaipo, some ale, and something hot to eat. Sleep. however, was the friend he missed the most.

Kelvin raised his head, watching the Rangers beginning to stir. Their hands instinctively went to their weapons. Kelvin's heart beat faster in his chest, his head pounding to the rhythm. It wouldn't be long now. He had been able to give the Rangers enough information about Zaijeel's men and their mounts there should have been no mistaking them. Kelvin hoped this proved true, for his sake as much as the merchants' and townspeoples'.

What must have been a half hour passed, while the men waited behind the dunes. While the small sandstorm was quite an inconvenience, it gave an almost crucial benefit of added concealment. All it would take is for one of the men to be spotted and then the Ranger's would have to give chase. Their mounts were several hundred yards behind, guarded by a handful of young attendants.

Kelvin heard the flute, high over the desert storm. With a yell the Rangers swung around and topped the dunes. Kelvin topped the dune, making sure his balaclava was tight around his face. From there, he laid down on his stomach and watched the chaos ensue.

The bandits were caught unawares, many of them reaching for their weapons even as the Rangers fell upon them. Some had gold rings hanging from their ears and noses and chains hanging around their necks which glinted in the sunlight as the battle raged. Zaijeel barked orders from the center of the column before joining the fray. He was a fearsome man, standing almost seven feet tall. Curly black hair was matted at his back, and his beard came to the middle of his chest. The solid, steel mace he wielded was as thick as a small tree.

Kelvin watched the monstrous man as he engaged the Rangers. Kell, one of the Rangers Kelvin knew in passing, thrust toward Zaijeel with his sword. With a speed and skill a man his size should not have possessed, Zaijeel parried the blade with his massive mace and brought down square on Kell's head. Kelvin's stomach churned as his head exploded like an over-ripe melon.

The Rangers had assaulted the bandits right in the middle of their column, and while all but Zaijeel and his two lieutenants were now laying in heaps on the desert sands, the front and rear of the column now descended upon Rangers, hitting them from both sides. The Rangers formed a circle around the conflict erupting in their center. Kelvin thought it was a rather odd thing, Zaijeel engaged in a fight to the death encircled by enemies with their backs to him as yet another poorly formed ring converged on the first.

Out of his peripheral vision, Kelvin spotted a bandit making his way up the dune to him. Kelvin fumbled with the crossbow strapped to his back as the bandit struggled up the dune, the loose sand and wind slowing his progress. The bandit yelled curses through the wind at Kelvin, but over the high ring of steel on steel and the clamor of battle they fell on deaf ears. The bandit was just yards away when Kelvin was able to pull the crossbow around, and he frantically inserted the bolt and cranked with all his might.

The revelation of what was about to happen struck the bandit, who leaped towards Kelvin. At the very last instant the crossbow twanged, and the bolt slammed into the bandit's stomach. His momentum carried him just over Kelvin, who rolled out of the way of the bandit's body. A sickening thud came to Kelvin's ears, and a sharp pain shot up through his left shoulder. Adrenaline now pumped through the young man's veins, allowing him to block out the pain.

The bandit had landed face down, the bolt going clean through the side of his stomach. Kelvin grasped the opportunity and leapt onto the bandit, pulling his sword in the same motion. The bandit jerked violently, almost throwing Kelvin off. Kelvin awkwardly thrust the sword into the bandit's back. He screamed and slammed back to the ground in agony. Kelvin rent his sword from the bandit's back and thrust again. Then again. He didn't stop until he was sure the bandit wouldn't come for him again.

When he was done, Kelvin rolled off the bandit, his sword still sticking out of the man's back. The world reeled. Vomit retched it's way up into Kelvin's throat as the rush of battle began to leave him. He patted his left shoulder, noting that it was sliced badly. Finally, he sat back up, trembling. The battle on the other side of the dune now came rushing back into his mind. Kelvin pulled his sword from the bandit's back and peered over the top of the dune.

It was all over now. All but five of the bandits and half of the Rangers lay broken on the ground. Three of the bandits, one badly injured, were bound. Zaijeel and another bandit Kelvin had not yet seen were struggling vehemently, but the Rangers didn't seem to having to bad of a time getting them bound. The other Rangers took to looting the bodies of the dead Bandits and tending to their own wounded.

Kelvin staggered down the dune, falling once halfway down. His head was light as he looked around, hoping that Atticus, the white mage who had accompanied them, had not fallen. That hope was quickly quenched once he saw Atticus' body face down on the sand.

"Kelvin," a rough voice boomed from behind him, "What in the flames happened to you?"

Rouche, the commander of the detachment, eyed him with a look of disapproval on his face. The short, stocky Ranger had his axe laying across his shoulder. His forehead was a mess of dried blood, and he walked with a limp. A closer look revealed the makeshift bandage wrapped around his leg.

"I was attacked," Kelvin said, pointing to the dune.

"Confound it, you little twerp!" Rouche replied. "How hard is it to keep yerself hidden long enough fer us to mop up this mess? What woulda happened had we all died, and then you? There wouldn't a been nobody to warn the others, and they would send another detachment out here. Only this time Zaijeel would have had more help, and they would have been doin' the ambushin'."

"I don't know what it is you want me to say," Kelvin said as he clenched his fist. "To beg for your mercy for killing one of those trying to kill us? Is that it?"

"Don't get smart with me boy," Rouche said with open contempt, "Or I'll knock a couple more of your teeth out. Got find Davey, he's still alive and let him tend to that shoulder once he gets done with your betters, then help clean up this mess."

Without waiting for a reply, Rouche turned and stomped away as best he could with an injured leg. Kelvin wanted to scream at him, to throw his sword in the Rouche's face and tell him that they wouldn't be having him to push around anymore. But Kelvin knew better.

It was a harsh world in the desert, and it took a little bit of coin to ever make your way out of it. He had no other skills but what little he had in arms and those necessary to do his duties to the Rangers. No one would want him anyway once they found out he had left his duty. Still trembling, now out of anger more than fear, he went to find Atticus.

After his shoulder had been bandaged, Kelvin set to helping the others bury their dead companions and packing their personal effects onto the camels to return to their families. It was long, arduous work. With only five shovels and just over a dozen graves to dig, many of the men turned to using the axes and buckets they had acquired from their foes.

Night was beginning to set in on the desert when they finally mounted up and began the long trek back to Quorl and then to Kaipo where Zaijeel and his men would stand trial in front of the constables. Kelvin slumped over in his saddle, going over the events of the day in his mind. The words he had had with Rouche played again over and over in his mind, and a couple of the other Rangers hadn't been much kinder.

However, Kelvin did have the pleasure of seeing what was left of the face of the Ranger who had threatened him before the battle. That at least was some consolation. Kelvin smiled for the first time in days.


End file.
